


I Came Home

by Crimson_Voltaire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Torture, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: Credence wants to say many things; he wants to thank Graves for sending him to be with Newt, for the wonderful experiences this past year has brought.He wants to curse Graves for giving up on him and shipping him half way around the world with a socially awkward, obsessive mad scientist.But he doesn't.---Credence comes home.





	I Came Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebeholder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill and a gift fic for the darling bluebeholder. She finally got me to write Graves/Credence. I hope this does the prompt justice. 
> 
> As per usual, unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.

The stench of salt and the gentle rocking of the ship are two memories Credence thinks he'll be happy to forget. That and the grey expanse of water breaking into white crested peaks against the ship's dull navy hull. He's spent the last five days aboard this monstrosity, either tucked away in the second class cabin he shares with Newt (the case within the cabin, really) or standing on the deck trying to read and not be sick. But today, Credence leans on the rail with something like apprehension burning bright his belly and not just sea sickness.

New York's iconic skyline pierces the steely grey of the clouds at the horizon, Liberty standing proud and skyscrapers going up, up, up until they are all but lost in the fog. It's eerie, it's beautiful, it’s enough to steal Credence's breath away and to make his heart yearn. It invites a longing he buried a year ago to claw its way to the surface of his consciousness and make a mess of him. Instinctively, Credence presses a hand to his heart, massaging the skin as if it will soothe the ache beneath. His eyes sting. If asked Credence will blame the bitter January wind which whips around the ship and threatens to blow his hat from his head, but it isn’t the wind which brings tears to his eyes.

Credence stares out as New York draws closer, feeling very much excited and so very lost. He's so caught up in the uncertainty roiling in his belly that he almost misses the familiar blue coat slipping into the crevice beside him. It is only when Newt speaks that Credence turns to look at the magizoologist.

"How does it feel to be going home, then?"

This isn't the first time Newt has asked him that question on the last leg of their journey, but it's the first time Credence feels as if he can give Newt a proper answer. Despite all the apprehension, the young man feels as if some weight has been lifted from his lips, freeing him to speak what he never dared before.

"Strange... I'm excited, but nervous."

Newt gives him that funny half smile, green-grey eyes holding Credence's for a minute before falling to the wayside. Yet, the lanky man reaches out a hand, gripping Credence's shoulder in an affectionate squeeze.

"You've come so far, Credence," Newt murmurs, voice quivering, "You'll be brilliant."

Credence _has_ come far. In the two years since the _Incident_ , the first spent in New York, the second abroad with Newt, he's shed the skin he wore like a cloak. Gone is the timid boy with the atrocious haircut and even more atrocious posture. Gone is the fear and the pain and the malnutrition. Gone is the oily smoke and flickering brimstone which threatened destruction at every turn. Instead, Credence has replaced it with long, curly locks and a certainty in himself, in his magic. He still has bad days, but Newt has taught him to push through them, to take the darkness welling in his throat and make something useful of it. Right now, Credence focuses on the anxiety burning in his veins and twists it up, creating a little ball he swallows down until it is replaced with calm. Then Credence surges forward to wrap his arms around him. Newt starts a little, but soon calloused hands are stroking through his hair.

"Thank you, Newt," Credence mumbles, face lost in the blue wool of Newt's coat. The man laughs, softly, sadly, sniffing a little.

"You're most welcome, Credence. I'll miss you."

When they part, Credence just smiles, shrugging, "Well, you'll have to visit more often, won't you?"

* * *

 

The skyline looms large now, an ominous presence that pokes at the unease in Credence's belly. There's no use fighting it down now, not when it has a foothold on his ribs and a grip at his heart. That's another thing Newt taught him, that sometimes these feelings have to be felt, even if Credence doesn't like it. Credence watches carefully as the ship creeps into the harbour, pulling alongside the passenger dock and finally slowing to a stop. When the ship lurches, Credence does too, bolting back to the cabin below deck to gather his things.

"Do you have everything?" Newt asks, watching as Credence rushes about with a sort of reserved amusement.

The young man finds himself nodding, even as he pats all his pockets and makes sure Niff hasn't accosted his favourite fountain pen again. Then, he looks up at Newt and smiles.

"Ready?"   
"Ready."

They disembark without fanfare, slipping through Customs and the frantic space with an ease born of long ago learning to be unnoticed. The noise and the excitement is both so familiar and foreign to Credence now; refreshing and exhausting in a way that makes his head spin. He finds himself scanning the crowds, the writhing, seething mass of colour and faces, searching.

He almost overlooks him, he's so flustered by all the people.

He almost overlooks him, but doesn't.

When their eyes make contact, Credence swears the world stops turning.

That whiskey coloured gaze pins Credence like a butterfly, burning with an intensity that the young man has missed so very much. His stomach sets itself ablaze, burning with a cocktail of excitement and dread and an old ache. Newt must hear his breath hitch, for the magizoologist's head swivels and he stops too. For a moment, there is only Newt and Credence and _him_.

Graves stands at the corner of the street, hands in his pockets, striking in the same way he was in the fall of '26. The sharp, dramatic cut of his coat accentuates the wide swoop of his shoulders, makes him appear bigger than he is. He wears an emerald green, cashmere scarf slung around his neck.

He's imposing, he's beautiful, still very much the demon come to lead Credence into temptation.

But there are differences too, between this rendition and the one living in Credence's memory. This man has silver striking through his dark hair; his skin catches with spider silk marks that look like lightning scars but appear solely when the angle is right. His eyes promise spectres and phantoms which only haunt you when you've walked through hell and come back.

Graves is so very different from the man Credence met in '26, but he's still him, and it makes Credence's heart splutter.

It is only when other passengers begin to bump and prod him, their angry muttering filling his ears that Credence wobbles forward again. He trips out into the city feeling like he's wading through water; he's dreamed of this moment for so long and now that it's here it's surreal.

Graves steps off the curb and begins towards them, his boots shining in the dull light peaking through the clouds. When he crosses the street, the automobiles stop for him, people move out of the way for him. The world trembles when he passes by.

Gazing upon this magnificent creature, Credence aches. Aches like he is a mass of stitches being stretched, threatening to pop. The anxiety which has been coiling in his gut for the last few hours winds itself a little tighter, waiting to snap. It is all he can do to keep breathing, to keep moving forward. The distance closes between them, until it is almost nothing at all. Then, Credence stands, eye to eye with Percival Graves for the first time in a year, and can't find anything to say.

He's been waiting for this moment for _so long_.

Credence wants to say so many things; to thank Graves for sending him to be with Newt, to curse Graves for giving up on him and shipping him half way round the world with a creature obsessed mad scientist. He wants to yell and scream and cry and do all the things he didn't this time last year when Percival, battered and broken and exhausted, looked him in the eye and said, "I can't do this, Credence. I can't even put myself back together."

The deadness in those beautiful brown eyes stayed with Credence for weeks, and he wants to tell that to Graves, to let the man know just how much it hurt. He wants to tell him all of this and more, but doesn't.

Graves looks him up and down and offers Credence the tiniest of smiles, something like joy sparking in the coffee-dark depths of his irises. Credence's breath hitches again.

"You came back," Graves murmurs, voice almost drowned out in the background hum of the city. Warmth blooms in Credence's heart, sealing over that ache which grows there.

It won't close the wounds completely, but Credence is sure the scar will fade with time.

He grins, "I came home."

It's as if a curse laid over them has shattered. They rush forward, simultaneously, limbs hooking about each other, foreheads pressed together, bodies flush. Credence squeezes the Auror for all he's worth, fingers fisting in the finery of Graves' jacket. The man's ribs jerk as he heaves out a great sob, a perfect teardrop rolling down a pale cheek.

"You came back," Graves repeats, voice cracking, "You came _back_."

"I came home."

_I came home_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Leave a comment telling me what you think, or come scream at me on Tumblr. My URL is luminis-infinite.   
> Cheers.


End file.
